


505

by acosmist_t



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fred Weasley Dies, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Romance, Sad, Sad Draco Malfoy, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Harm, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Survivor Guilt, Torture, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acosmist_t/pseuds/acosmist_t
Summary: Based on the song 505 by Arctic Monkeys.The Dark Lord gives Draco a new task: to eliminate all his weaknesses, namely you.All of these have been posted separately across my ao3 and Tumblr but I thought it might be nice to have a multiple chapter version.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Reader, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Theodore Nott/Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	1. 505

**Author's Note:**

> Word Count: 3.2k
> 
> Warnings: idk angst, sadness, slight cursing (bad writing)
> 
> a/n: i don’t even like to write tbh but this has been in my head for weeks so don’t clown me. i recommend reading on tumblr @acosmis-t

Tremors in his hands accompanied by a sick turning in his stomach. Waves of anxiety and dread rolled through Draco’s body.

He knew he had to do this. There were so many things he had to do, but this was the worst. This was you.

Nothing had ever frozen his blood so much as when Snape told him about the Dark Lord’s newest task. The Lord knew about you- knew how Draco cared for you.

Love was weakness, and Draco couldn’t be weak, not if he was going to be successful.

_ Kill her _ , the message was. Prove his loyalty. Eliminate obstacles.

Draco had to do it, and the only thing that kept his legs moving was the knowledge that the Dark Lord would put you through so much worse if Draco didn’t.

They called you the Gryffindor Princess, and no one knew how the Slytherin Prince made you love him. Like a butterfly caught in a monster’s grasp.

You were Potter’s best friend and a Gryffindor at heart, so naturally, you and Draco hated each other from the start. Years of torment and pranks passed between the two of you, sick jokes and hospital visits aplenty. But things changed in your 5th year.

You met in the astronomy tower one night. Draco had been leaning against the wall, his eyes scanning over the sky as if looking for some message only he could see. You had just gotten back from detention with Umbridge, another ugly scar added to the ever-growing collection.

One would have expected the two of you to start bickering immediately, but there was something so intimate about meeting a stranger in the night that only silence filled the air. Stolen glances and the slight quirking of lips were only the start.

It had become an almost-tradition between the two of you. At midnight, you would sneak up to watch the stars together. At first, no one spoke, but gradually, he began talking.

He trusted you. He didn’t know why, but he did. You were a constant in his life since he was 11-years-old and one of the few people he could count on, if only just to argue with. And as soon as he knew it, he sat spilling his guts on the ledge of the Astronomy Tower, keeping things vague, yet so personal.

You talked back. Harry would’ve killed you if he knew you were becoming almost-friends with Malfoy, so you didn’t tell him. You told Draco things no one else knew, the feelings and pressure that you refused to talk about. And he understood.

Soon enough, your lips stopped sharing secrets and instead began sharing kisses bathed in moonlight.

Everything was kept between you, Draco, and the stars above.

He loved you. If there was one thing in the world that was certain, it was that Draco Malfoy loved you. He would do anything for you.

That’s what made this so much worse.

-

_ Dear Y/N, _

_ You always told me I was better. That these actions didn’t define me. I wanted to believe you, but you were wrong. I am a monster and I will meet a bad end. But at least you won’t be there for it. _

_ I never deserved what you’ve given me. Never deserved an ounce of it. And you won’t ever read this letter, won’t ever know half the things I’ve been too afraid to tell you, but given the chance, I would tell you everything. _

_ I would tell you all the dark, evil things I’ve done. Katie Bell was just a number on that list. I always thought you were too good for that and every other part of my world. I was selfish because I know you would never accept me if you knew. _

_ I would also tell you just how much you mean to me. Pansy always laughed whenever she caught me staring at you. I couldn’t help it, though. There was something so picturesque about you. If I could, I would take a photo of you and keep it in my pocket forever.  _

_ There would be lines on the flimsy paper for every time I unfolded and refolded it, just so I could see that smile on your face. And you would find the picture in a pile of my clothes one day and yell at me for it. You would tell me how off-guard you looked and that you could give me a better one to hold on to. _

_ But I would say no. I would say how your lips tilt in just the right way that sends a spear through my heart. Your freckles are like stars that connect to a constellation I wouldn’t mind staring at for the rest of my life. That the jovial shock in your eyes is a reminder that we’re both alive and well. _

_ There is so much I wish I could tell you. Too much I’ll never get to tell you. I’ve never been one for sentiment or emotion, but I’d sacrifice that piece of me if it meant I could go back. _

_ That’s why I write this with a different scene in mind. I don’t think of the task at hand or the fact that I’m about to lose the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Instead, I’ll picture  _ **_you’re waiting, lying on your side, with your hands between your thighs._ ** _ Keeping yourself warm while, once again, I’m not there for you. _

_ I’ll paint beautiful color over a painful canvas, hiding the fact that my heart is the shade of a crushed red, dark as blood. Like most humans, I will cope with this story by spinning it into another, highlighting the beauty of sadness, not the heartbreak. _

_ I’m sorry. _

_ \- D.M. _

-

The moon covered the Astronomy Tower in hues of silver and shine. There was a thick blanket you set out for the two of you on the ground, surrounded by candles and snacks.

You knew Draco had been suffering lately, his almost-grey skin and lost weight giving it away. There was a task that he refused to tell you about, and it was driving him mad.

It was well past midnight, but you would wait for him. He had been so detached lately and spent most of his time alone in the Room of Requirement. You never asked why, and he never told you.

There had been fights, of course. Screaming matches followed by sobs at the realization that your childhood was over before you even got to enjoy it.

Still, Draco Malfoy had your heart, and nothing he could ever do would change that. You’d felt his fear every time he came clean about another one of his actions, but you never blamed him. Things were never quite so black and white.

It was your one-year anniversary tonight.

May 5th. The day the two of you first admitted how you felt.

Your relationship was anything but traditional, but it worked well. Your brashness was soothed by his passiveness. Like a flame doused with water, something even greater rising from the ashes.

Just as you considered packing up the items and bringing them directly to his dorm, the door creaked open.

His grey eyes were empty, devoid of emotion.

Something about it made your hands freeze, a bad feeling taking an iron fist around your throat.

“Hi,” you said slowly, unsure of what was happening. Your eyes dragged down to a crumpled piece of parchment in his hand. “What’s that?” you asked with a point in its direction.

He shook his head. Clenched his jaw tightly. Pushed the paper into his pocket. “Nothing.” His voice came out low and empty, signaling that he was indeed occluding.

You slipped on the blankets as you stepped forward. His arms were around you instantly, preventing you from falling.

“Always so clumsy,” he joked, amusement rising in and out of his face. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, immediately hardening his expression, as if laughter were a gift he couldn’t afford.

“Talk to me, Draco. What happened?”

He took a step away, moving into the moonlight. The ethereal glow contrasted the look of dread on his face, reminding you of the anguished roman statues you find in museums.

You reached a hand out, always asking permission before touching him, especially when he was stressed.

“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Let me help you.”

He drew back even further and a gunshot went through your heart. Something was extremely wrong.

His voice was soft when he spoke. “What’s all this?” There was an underlying sadness in his words.

“It’s our anniversary, Draco. You thought I wouldn’t do something?” Your voice cracked slightly.  _ No _ , you told yourself. You wouldn’t cry, no matter what.

Your words seemed to open a dam in him. The boy rarely cried or displayed many emotions, save for the panic attacks and breakdowns he had only in your presence, so this was unusual.

“I’m sorry.”

-

Draco watched as understanding flooded your features. He had warned you of the dangers that came with the two of you being together. The complications that could (and did) arrive.

But ever the Gryffindor, you didn’t care. You assured him that anything that happened you would face together.

“I see.” The words were quiet, contained. Draco didn’t understand how he was still breathing as his hand drifted towards the letter in his pocket.

“Aren’t you afraid? Aren’t you scared?” His voice rose in volume. You  _ should _ be scared. He was a Death Eater. He was dangerous. “ _ Be afraid _ ,” he shouted.

But you just shook your head and tentatively placed a hand on his left wrist. “I know you, Draco. And you know me.”

A sob broke from his tattered lungs, battling the anger that continued to rise. “How could you? How could you love  _ me _ ? A Death Eater?”

You smiled sadly. “Well,  **when you look at me like that, my darling, what did you expect?** ”

He pulled his hand back, but your grip tightened on it, bringing it to rest against your cheek. “You can’t-,” he broke off roughly.

You slid it down to rest around your throat, his hand curving from habit formed over many nights in a similar position. “ **I probably still adore you with your hands around my neck. Or I did last time I checked.** ”

Draco pulled away successfully this time. There were too many emotions suffocating him right now. Love, hurt, anger. Fear.

He couldn’t fail. Too much was on the line.  **A knife twists at the thought that he should fall short of the mark.**

Gathering his sparks of adrenaline, he reached into his robes and grabbed his wand, pulling it out quickly.

“Y/N,” he said as he pointed his wand at you.

“Draco.” You smirked at him like it was any other day.

-

You were purposely riling him up. You understood what his task was, what he was here to do.

There would never be anybody else for you but Draco. It was something you accepted within the first few months of your relationship.

So, you would do this for him. He was so clearly ruined by his task, his actions. He had to kill you. And you would help him do it.

He would hate himself over hurting you in any context. At least angering him would actually let him do it. Give him that final push.

Harry had taught you the importance of sacrifice, and you would not fail Draco, you would be there for him.

“Come on, Draco. Do it. The Dark Lord is counting on you, isn’t he?”

His hands tightened and he shoved you back, not enough to hurt, but enough to make an impact.

Another push had your back against the wall, the point of his wand pushing into your throat.

“ _ Run! Be scared! Be fucking terrified! _ ” It was a wonder no one could hear the two of you.

“No. You won’t do it, will you? Just your father’s disappointment- a waste of potential.” You were also shouting at him, begging him. The words felt foreign in your mouth, curses that seemed to hit their mark. You and he had spent enough time together to know each other’s weaknesses.

His eyes watered and he stumbled around his words before he cried, “ _ Avada- Avad- Av- _ ” He stuttered violently as he collapsed to his knees, sobs racking through him.

You kneeled down in front of him and wrapped your arms around him. “You can do it, my love. I forgive you.” 

Nausea filled you as you straightened and placed his fallen wand into his hand and rested it against your throat once more. You were only fooling yourself with the notion that you were okay with death.

Your eyes drifted to the now disturbed blankets you had set out. It was supposed to be a nice night for the two of you. A small flame of happiness during these dark times.

Draco followed your line of sight and glanced at the scene. He laughed joylessly, “ **I'm always just about to go and spoil a surprise** , aren’t I?”

You had planned it out well. A small celebration meant for just the two of you. A milestone in not just your relationship, but your lives. Your first year together- and your last.

Your eyes met his and you held his hand in place. “I forgive you.”

Three words that broke the both of you. Despite your adamance that you do not cry, a single tear slid down your cheek.

“ _ Avada Ked- _ ”

Again, his hand dropped and a sob made him fall into your shoulder, your arms reacting immediately and letting him rest there.

“Y/N, please. I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can. If not for you, do it for me. I’m not dumb, Draco, I know what’s going to happen if you fail.” Your voice was clear and a weak attempt at convincing.

“ **I crumble completely when you cry** ,” he smiled painfully through his tears as he looked up and wiped away your own.

You stayed like that for a while, murmuring small assurances to each other in an attempt to distract from the inevitable future.

-

Draco knew he had been absent lately. So many nights had been spent with that bloody cabinet that he hadn’t made time for you.

Your relationship became comprised of worried and checking glances during classes and little time spent in privacy. It seemed nights were taken up with goodbyes rather than time together.

His mind trailed back to the present. There were few things Draco Malfoy could not do, and the Dark Lord finally discovered one of them.

Love would forever be a weakness, but it had also been a strength. It was insane to believe that Draco could have survived these past few months without you. Just the thought of you put an extra breath of oxygen into his lungs.

On his way to the tower, he had gone through countless alternatives to killing you, arriving at almost nothing.

Almost.

The thought came to him while he was writing the letter. He had heard of what most of the Mudbloods had done with their parents and family.

Months ago, you had told him of you and your friends’ run-in with Professor Lockhart and the memory charm in your second year.

It could work. He could live with it as long as you were alive. It was tricky magic, but he had become adept at all sorts of charms these past years.

If he were correct about it, he could erase himself from the past year and a half of your life. You could keep everything else.

Confident in his decision, he stood up and pulled out his earlier letter. He ripped off the bottom where he had signed his name and used his wand to scribble out Pansy and Katie’s names, leaving it completely anonymous.

Your eyes tracked his movements as you stood to stand up beside him, shaking your shoulders and arms in hopes of getting your adrenaline running, preparing for the Unforgivable.

His wand burned up the ripped off scraps of paper as he folded the letter up and placed it in your empty hand.

“For later,” he said.

Your face twisted in confusion. “Later?”

“I have a new plan- something inspired by Granger.”

You stared at him before slowly connecting the pieces. Draco always held pride over your logic levels, you were near the top of the class for a reason.

“Yes, Y/N. It works out so well, right?” He was almost giddy with the idea. Heartbroken, he would be. But that didn’t erase the fact that you would be alive and happy. That would be enough.

“Draco, no. Please, no.” You backed away, fear and sadness taking front-row seats in your eyes. “I don’t want this. Just kill me,  _ please _ . Death is better than forgetting you.”

“It’ll be like nothing changed, love. Everything will be as it should be.” He stepped forward, backing you against the wall again.

This was good. You would be okay. He could breathe as long as you were okay. Memories were enough to satisfy him.

“Draco, _ don’t.  _ This I won’t forgive you for. I will  _ never _ accept this.”

Those words made a large lump form in his throat. Maybe it wouldn’t work. Could he really live with your hateful stares again? Could he survive with the knowledge that you loathed him with every bone in your body?

He shook his head. “There will be nothing to forgive. You’ll be happy and the Dark Lord will be satisfied. I’ll convince Snape to help me find a body or some sort of proof.” He smiled through the new tears now piling onto the old.

You pushed him back to no avail. He was too tall, too strong. Draco watched your hand reach for your wand and he efficiently disarmed you.

_ “Expelliarmus _ .” The wand flew into his hand and he threw it to the side.

You glared at him. “Draco,  _ I love you _ . Don’t erase yourself, I can’t handle it. My soul knows yours and yours only. It will eat me alive.”

Still, he only reassured you. “This is the only option. The only one I can live with,” he added when you opened your mouth in protest.

“What about what  _ I _ can live with. Things won’t just ‘go back to normal’. Life doesn’t work that way.”

He silenced you with a kiss. It was sad and held hearts full of memories. You kissed him back, not touching except for the hand you moved up to his cheek.

-

You broke it first, but didn’t back away. “ _ Please _ ,” you whispered, despite the acceptance filling you. Sacrifice was a part of living, and you knew you would meet him again, if not in this life, then another.

“I’m sorry.” It was broken and heartfelt. He reached to the necklace around your neck and removed the band from it, pocketing the Malfoy signet ring he had given you on your sixth-month anniversary.

Like before, you made eye contact with him as his wand was brought to your temple, your hand finding the mysterious letter from earlier. 

In your mind, you relived every conversation, every moment the two of you shared in your time together. The promises, the secrets, the touches that defined your relationship.

You could never forget Draco Malfoy. He had unknowingly made a mark on your heart, not just your mind.

You whispered quietly with an accepting smile, “ **It seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye** .”

Draco looked at you with just as much pain as you had him, closing his eyes to whisper one broken word.

“ _ Obliviate. _ ”


	2. 505: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of 505. It’s been one year since the Battle of Hogwarts. One year since you had completely moved to the Muggle world to escape your past- or lack thereof. But now it was time to come back to the magic community.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 6.8k
> 
> Warnings: mild cursing, alcohol to cope because were unhealthy, slight PTSD and dealing with different triggers, start of a panic attack but it’s very mild and doesn’t last, yearning
> 
> a/n: first of all, IM SORRY. i had reached 6k and still had over half of the plot line that i hadn’t even touched but i swear part 3 should be out latest tuesday but im aiming for tomorrow (aka later today). i appreciated all the love and response for part one and i hope this exceeds expectations. also to clear things up cause even i got confused: part one took place at the end of 6th year and we are now two years from that event and one year since the battle :)
> 
> also go read on my tumblr @acosmis-t

_Dear Y/N,_

_I pray you’re doing well. It’s late and I’m writing this one week before my biggest court date. Call me a sad sap, but I wish you could be there with me, one of the few people that know me- knew me- at my heart._

_Lately, I’ve realized that you have become like a diary. I spill my innermost thoughts not from lips, but through ink. Putting your name on it makes everything feel a little more personal, like I’m not speaking to a blank piece of paper. I wonder if you’ll ever read these._

_Yours is the face, the mind, that never leaves my thoughts. The guilt haunts me to this day- but I’m sure you knew that already. Even now, I can’t help but feel that even if you’ve read my letters, known my regret, you would still turn them, turn me, away._

_I’m sorry about Fred. Honestly, I had always taken a liking to the Weasley twins, and seeing his face turned up dead in the Great Hall was like a wake-up call. I did this- this was my fault._

_My father is working hard to ensure that we do not end up in Azkaban and at least keep some part of our fortune. It’s going well, I suppose, though the dirty looks and disgusted faces never do get easier._

_Can I be honest with you? I almost wish we were punished- or at least I was. I don’t want to get off this easy after the horror and travesty I helped commit. The guilt eats you up inside and all I want is to be punished. Or just hurt, I’m not sure. And the worst part is that, even after everything I’ve done, you remain my biggest regret._

_I miss you,_

_D.M._

-

Another letter. Another slip of parchment that will never see the light of day.

They had become his coping mechanism. Healers diagnosed him with PTSD with a splash of anxiety. Muggle diseases that brought a sour taste to his tongue. There was no treatment for the memories, no cure for the nightmares. So, this was how he coped.

To most, it would sound like an obsession. A small black journal where he wrote letters to the girl he hadn’t spoken to in over two years. But it wasn’t like that.

He had dated around, even been arranged a marriage with Astoria Greengrass, but he could never commit. Because every time he got close to someone, all he saw was the damage he caused you, and he would never survive it again.

You didn’t read the letters anyway. You probably didn’t even remember much else about Draco Malfoy except that he had been a Death Eater who was now shunned from society for his betrayal. But despite all of that, you were the one who knew him best, even if you didn’t remember that part of your life.

Didn’t remember the life you planned together.

He drained the rest of the firewhisky in his glass. Maybe he was a little hung up on you.

-

It was late, you knew that.

So late, in fact, that the sun was expected to rise in a handful of hours. Recently, sleep had been right out of grasp.

Okay, maybe not ‘recently’.

You had struggled with insomnia your whole life, but it had increased tenfold during your last year of Hogwarts. You were a ghost of yourself, a whisper of the past. And this time of year only made things worse.

Many of the survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts had gone on to do great things. Hell, look at Harry Potter. Rebuilding had commenced almost immediately as if a fresh coat of paint was enough to erase the devastation left behind.

That was the thing you never understood. As much as people urge you to move on, they never really care enough to tell you how to truly ‘move on’. Did it mean to forget or to remember? To fight or to accept? Healing was a minefield of contradictions.

There would always be something missing, but what, you didn’t know. It was that feeling when you know you forgot something, but couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

And it was huge.

There were threads loose from the tapestry that formed your life. And every time you pulled on one to find the source, more came out with it. In the end, all you were left with was a pile of worthless string and a blinding headache.

It drove you to the brink of insanity. Nothing would ever compare to the loss of identity when you couldn’t even remember your own past.

Your hands found their way to the letter. Folding it and unfolding it. Eyes reading, but not comprehending.

This was your past, your missing pieces. The well-worn creases mixed with the handwriting that had become as familiar as your own. There were no names, not a clue as to who it was from, but it was one of your most prized possessions.

Your eyes closed for a moment, exhaustion finally kicking in. If you fell asleep now, you could manage just enough rest to avoid being practically a zombie tomorrow at your job. Muggles didn’t appreciate laziness.

Still, the lamp remained on and your fingers unfolded the letter again.

-

_Tap, tap, tap._

Your fingers played a nervous beat on your desk, eyes staring solely at the clock hanging on the far wall, waiting for the long arm to reach the 12.

Anxious didn’t begin to describe your mood. After the Battle, it took you all of one week to decide to leave the wizarding world. It was only supposed to be a temporary switch. One year and you’d go back.

You were three months late.

The Ministry had sent multiple messages regarding your lack of reappearance, but you ignored them all. By now, you had expected to be better, to be healed. Things hadn’t gone according to plan.

Nightmares still plagued you and certain triggers would still send you into panic mode.

A few weeks ago, you had finally decided enough was enough. It was time to go back.

You wouldn’t miss your boring job at the publishing company or the small flat you had moved into after the War. However, as unusual as life without magic had been, you weren’t exactly eager to return to the wizarding world.

Today, you had to collect some items from the Ministry in preparation; there were many documents to be signed and currency exchanges to be had, as well as sorting out your inheritance.

The ill-timed death of your parents hadn’t exactly helped your situation. You were never close to them, and the distance had only increased after you converted to a Muggle lifestyle, but regrets still haunted you.

The lift lit up and you scrambled to pack away your few items, deciding you could get away with leaving a few minutes early. And besides, if you did get in trouble...well, you were quitting anyway.

 _You know why you’re really leaving early_ , a voice in the back of your head whispered. _Not quite ready to return to what you left behind, are you?_

You silenced the voice, focusing on pressing the right buttons to get down and out of the office. Cars and buses flew by as you entered the crowded street.

Some things were better left behind in the Muggle world.

You knew yourself. Knew how you would turn the half-hour it would normally take to arrive at the Ministry and extend it to at least two.

And that’s exactly what you did.

Hours later, you reached the abandoned red telephone booth and typed in the numbers that would take you to the real entrance. Nerves lit on fire when you realized just how small the booth was, the walls pressing in more than they should.

But it was over quickly and the door opened to show the grandness that was the Ministry of Magic.

It had always been one of your favorite places, even after the distortion the Dark Lord had placed on it. Just the Atrium alone dripped glamour, all polished floors, gilded fireplaces, and golden decor.

Security had become a much bigger concern after the War, and it took you what felt like forever to be allowed onto the lifts. 

You were late- five minutes to be exact.

Level Ten of the Ministry of Magic was a maze of courtrooms that all looked the same. 

You would be lying if you said that you weren’t at least a little bit nervous to be this low into the ground. It wasn’t your fault that the stone walls and lowly lit torches reminded you a little too much of the carnage and rubble left behind from the Battle. There was a water leak that echoed off the walls, taking you back to the constant _drip drip drip_ of blood next to your ear.

Stone, brackets, identical doors passed by in your search for Courtroom One. Finally, you arrived in front of the towering wooden doors and nudged them open hesitantly.

Three faces greeted you inside.

First was the judge you had initially met with to arrange your new living and working situation over a year ago. In that time, he appeared to have grown a thick mustache, making him look older than he actually was.

To his left stood the executor for your parents’ wills. The last time you had seen him had been right after your parents died. Six months ago.

And lastly, to the right of the judge, was Harry Potter. Questions lit up your mind. Your oldest friend wasn’t supposed to be here. 

“Hi, Y/N.” Harry’s voice was just as you remembered, if not a little more confident. You smiled at the thought, pride filling you.

A pang going through your heart showed you how much you missed him and the rest of your old friends.

Thankfully, the process was kept short. The judge gave you back all the magical artifacts you had been required to leave behind and sent through a request for you to get a temporary position in the Muggle Relations department.

You made sure the word ‘temporary’ was included in the request.

The executor explained the apartment and inheritance your parents had left. Your family had always been well-off, nowhere near the wealth of most of the purebloods, but for a half-blood, you had always been higher-up.

Harry, however, had just been there for moral support. He stood by your side the whole time, standing in for the strength you didn’t have.

You hated him for it.

It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair that he and everybody else could just ‘be fine’. Wasn’t fair that he wasn’t shackled to his past- or lack thereof.

You didn’t doubt that he, too, had his struggles, his own memories to haunt him. He had probably gone through the most trauma, yet he still came out unblemished, save for a scar on his forehead.

Nobody else seemed to struggle as you did. The faces of your friends, your family, were plastered onto every wall, tucked into every crevice.

Fred Weasley stared back at you in every reflection.

Things had piled up so badly leading up into the Battle that to see your best friend’s face among the lost had been the last straw.

You distinctly remember the feeling of seeing his eyes staring up, unseeing, and sprinting out of the Great Hall. You dry-heaved into the grass for hours as everything became oversaturated in hues of broken and irreparable.

To this day, you never remembered who had brought you back into the castle. Your mind had been so distorted, so distracted by death, that everything had become a blur of destruction.

You needed to get out.

Air was suffocating you and the distant clicking of heels on stone were gunshots in your brain and the scratching of quill on parchment would drive you to insanity.

The judge finished his last signature and you bolted.

Out the doorway, a sharp left here, a right at the far corner, turning in a circle because you were so lost and you were trapped in a labyrinth of exact symmetry everywhere.

You paused to catch your breath, feet slowing to barely a jog.

The number 10 caught your attention.

Courtroom Ten was the worst of them all, you knew that. It was where the worst criminals go, the most dangerous.

You didn’t stop yourself as you inched towards it, trying to pick out the voices inside.

This was what you needed. Proof. You needed to know that the damage had not been erased. That things had been as bad as you thought.

That the War was real.

Because how could everyone just pick up and move on with their lives after _war_? People were dead, Hogwarts had been destroyed. Life wasn’t a light switch that you could turn on and off whenever you felt like it.

The Dark Lord- _Voldemort_ \- had wrecked and ruined people. Taken everything from them. _That_ was life- and it didn’t pause and unpause when things weren’t going the right way.

The door was cracked open as you approached it. The circular seating was fuller than you expected, the faces of the audience all having matching looks of disgust, horror, and...what was that?

_Pity?_

It was unbelievable.

Pity, of all things. Understanding, sympathy, _compassion_. For a criminal.

Your mouth filled with something sour and lemon and it felt like the worst batch of lemonade infused with what must be lies you’ve ever tasted because how could there be _pity_ for a criminal.

And judging by the number of occupants in that room, it was someone who worked under the Dark Lord. Someone who supported, who _caused_ , the War.

A Death Eater. A high-profile one at that.

The door was blissfully silent as you pushed it open and slipped inside. You moved into one of the farther-back seats in hopes of not being seen. While you weren’t as well-known as Harry Potter himself, you had still been best friends with him. 

Despite your higher seat, there were still heads blocking your view of whoever was on trial. Kingsley Shacklebolt gave you a surprised, but pleased, look from where he had paused at interrogating. You smiled back nervously.

The Minister for Magic turned back to his task. “So you admit you were an integral part of the death of former-Headmaster Albus Dumbledore?”

Your blood froze. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t anything about Dumbledore.

The memories around his death were the fuzziest. It had been about two months after you first fell out of touch with reality. The Headmaster had never been one of your favorite people, likely due to the fact that you could never trust him. Harry always defended him whenever you brought the point up, but it still didn’t erase the fact that Dumbledore had spent 17 years manipulating Harry. Raising him to die.

An oddly familiar voice responded, “Yes, I was. The Dark Lord had used me to get to Dumbledore.”

“Say his name,” the Minister commanded sharply.

“What?”

“He is no longer ‘the Dark Lord’. No longer will he have such power over us that we remain fearful of a name.” His voice was forceful, tweaked with a hint of anger. “Say his name,” the Minister repeated.

A beat of silence. A sharp intake of air. “Voldemort,” the other, clearly younger, man said quietly. Pained. “Voldemort had used me.”

“You were his servant.” Not quite a question.

“Yes.”

Something about the other man tickled the back of your head, but you didn’t know why. You just knew him.

Snape had been the one to kill Dumbledore. But he had died in the Battle. You rolled the word ‘integral’ around in your mouth. Pondered it. There had been plenty of people, plenty of Death Eaters, in the castle that night.

But they were all adults, most of which now dead or imprisoned. The man being interviewed right now sounded much too young. Probably hadn’t even graduated from Hogwarts when Dumbledore-

_Oh._

Realization hit you like a brick.

It had to be him. There was no one else who had those types of connections, that kind of status to be involved with something so important so young. To be _integral_.

The lady sitting in front of you got up and ran from the room, wiping tears from her eyes. You got a glimpse of her on her way out as well as a shock of recognition. She looked just like Lavender Brown.

Sure, Lavender had been a touch annoying and obsessive, but she was just a girl in love. Another number, another face lost. And that was likely her mother, just searching for vengeance, for justice, for her daughter.

You faced forward again, now given a clear view of the prosecution taking place.

Platinum-blond hair and pale skin; sharp angles and haunted eyes.

Draco Malfoy looked no better than he had the last time you had seen him during the Battle. You knew his family had been heavily involved in the Dark Lord’s innermost circle and thus put on lengthy trials for their allegiance.

Grey-tinged skin, dark circles under his eyes, shaky hands you could see from so far away. He was demolished.

You tried to push it down, desperately tried, but there was a sick sort of satisfaction in seeing someone else as broken as you. Not that you wanted him, specifically, to hurt, but you want to see someone else in your situation. Someone who hadn’t ‘moved on’.

It almost felt like an odd sort of kinship.

Draco had always been a bully, an insufferable one, and the two of you grew up spitting insults at one another. But things had changed in your last few years at Hogwarts. Call it maturity or call it war, but it was different.

You hadn’t paid much mind to it at the time, but he had completely disappeared. He didn’t say a word to you- it looked like it pained him to so much as see your face.

But to be fair, you had also lost that fire. And beyond that, some deep part of you didn’t want to hurt Malfoy, didn’t want to fight him. Even after all he had done, some piece of you pulled away at the idea of punishing him.

Your mind was dropped back into your body as Kingsley asked Draco another question, this one regarding his knowledge of other Death Eaters that remained uncaptured. Like last time, the Minister forced Draco to use His name. Voldemort.

He was clearly uncomfortable, the first sign of feeling you had seen in him yet. Draco maintained such apathy, a lack of care for everything around him. He calmed his breathing and looked around the room, thinking or preparing himself, you didn’t know.

A 90-degree turn and his eyes dropped on you. Met yours. He visibly flinched.

Draco looked as if he’d seen a ghost, his face paling more than you thought humanly possible.

Your brain was firing miscommunications, thoughts going in every direction but the correct one. You had gotten used to the nagging feeling of forgetfulness, but this was unparalleled.

The most severe case of déjà vu.

You shifted to the edge of your seat without realizing. It was on the tip of your tongue, something tangible, a memory so startling familiar.

“Do you have an answer for us, Mr. Malfoy, or do we have to get responses in other ways?” Kingsley held up a bottle of clear liquid.

Veritaserum.

Draco turned away from you, shaken. “Sir, I’ve told you all the information I have. I was 16 at the time and wasn’t provided with the level of authorization that you seek. So, for Merlin's-sake, either let me go or ask me different questions.”

And you didn’t know what it was, maybe the dip in his voice or the slight tic in his jaw, but you knew for a fact that Draco Malfoy was lying.

The thought barely finished running through your brain when you felt eyes staring at you, a different pair than before.

It was Pansy Parkinson and she had a devilish smile on her face and a cold look in her eyes and an expression that said ‘get out or else’.

And maybe you’d regret it later or perhaps you’d thank yourself, but you listened.

Still, the same thoughts and questions pestered your mind as you searched for the lift. A million nonsenses ran through your head as you gathered your paperwork and strength and walked to your new apartment.

-

_Dear Y/N,_

_I must say, you’ve always had a gift for surprises. Seeing you in the courtroom was unexpected, to say the least._

_Horrifying, if I’m being honest._

_I know you don’t know me and I know you couldn’t give two shits if I were lying dead in a ditch somewhere and, Merlin, I know that I deserved everything I got. But I still wish you didn’t have to see me this way. Locked in chains and threatened with Veritaserum._

_How many times do I have to say that I regret it? That I was but a pawn in a deadly game of chess? When will it be enough?_

_It’s a torturous feeling. Justice is an unfair game. Who are we to decide who lives and who dies? When did we get the power to play God? The Ministry believes they can sentence people to death without a blink of an eye, condemn them to rot in Azkaban in the span of a second._

_Are you taking care of yourself?_

_I always compared you to a work of art, something I could hang in a museum beside the greats. You haven’t lost that quality, but instead of the bright and brilliant beauty I’m used to, it’s sad and somber and leaves me feeling rather dull._

_Is it my fault?_

_It’s almost funny how the first time I see you in so long would be on the court date that would decide my future. Thankfully, things went well (or as well as could be expected) and they’re not charging me with much._

_I wish that pestering guilt could leave me alone too._

_Feel better,_

_D.M._

-

_Dear Y/N,_

_I fucking hate you._

_You hear me? H-A-T-E._

_It’s near three in the morning now and I’m on my fifth, sixth, I’m not quite sure glass of firewhisky- always firewhisky- and I’m mad._

_I want to scream at you, yell at you, shout all the expletives I have. I hate the fact that I’m addicted to you like some sick drug that is slowly killing me._

_It was one look. Barely 15 seconds of seeing you and I’m trapped back in seventh year and avoiding your gaze and weak insults._

_Why can’t you leave me alone?_

_Why do I write letters to you when I know you shouldn’t even exist to me?_

_No, you don’t exist. You are a figment of my imagination, a false reality._

_I thought I had gotten over the anger. The rage. After the War, I was caught in it like a fly in a web. Everything hurt so bad and I took it out on everybody around me. Did you know I nearly got kicked out of my house?_

_I had yelled at my mum- my own mother- about how I blamed them. For everything. If they weren’t so weak, so bloody pathetic, I wouldn’t have joined Voldemort. Right? Because if my father hadn’t been such a coward and gotten locked in Azkaban, I wouldn’t have been punished with a task._

_That task, that murder brought everything around me crashing down._

_And who knows? Maybe things wouldn’t have been so terrible if I still had you with me. Maybe you could’ve been proof of redemption and rehabilitation._

_But no. I hate you because you were the one thing I never hated._

_And then I lost that too._

_-D._

-

It had been one week.

One week since you reentered the magical community. 7 days since you’d seen Harry Potter for the first time in over a year. 168 hours since you witnessed Draco Malfoy’s final hearing.

You fell back into the rhythm of things easily enough. The apartment your parents left you was sleek and modern, yet cozy. It was also quite spacious, which sounded like a blessing but you were convinced it was a bit closer to a curse.

You were lonely and constantly followed by a pinch of paranoia.

There was something so unnerving over having so much space to yourself and nothing to do with it. You could never fully relax because the fear of being so alone always caught up to you.

Your old flat had been small on purpose. Less space to keep a careful eye on, fewer rooms to check for enemies whenever you woke up in the middle of the night.

Maybe you should get a cat.

Hermione had a cat.

Hogsmeade was a mix of bustling people and lively chatter. You were sick of it.

Were you a sadist? Is that why you craved the pain of others? For your own gratification? 

No. You wanted others to hurt, to show their scars, to prove that you can’t just forget something so traumatic as war.

Because if it were so simple, why were you still suffering?

A bell dinged loudly as you entered the Three Broomsticks, the heavy scent of butterbeer and food greeting you. The barstool was cold as you slid onto it, putting your head into your hands.

“Rough day?” a voice asked.

You looked up to see Madam Rosmerta drying out a glass. You smiled weakly. “A bit, yes.”

“I never do encourage drinking while upset, but you’re not the first to come here in a bad mood today.” She jerked her head to the side, motioning to a patron sitting a couple of seats down. “Someone else looks like he could use a drinking buddy.” Your eyes followed to see Draco Malfoy looking just as miserable as you. 

Your spirit lifted considerably.

“Firewhisky, please,” you asked. Rosmerta raised her eyebrows in surprise but still filled a glass for you immediately. “Thank you.”

You let your mind drift. The job in Muggle Relations hadn’t been so bad, just boring. But at least it was something that came easy, even if you had other interests.

You _had_ always been good at potions…

Glass clattering onto the bar knocked you from your thoughts. Draco was looking at you again, the same expression as before on his face as well as what looked like anger. His hand turned white around his glass and you swore it was close to breaking.

Why was _he_ mad at _you_? You hadn’t spoken to him in what seemed like forever, and even that felt too short to describe it. 

As a matter of fact, you hadn’t spoken to _anyone_ since the War. Not Harry, not Hermione, not Ron, no one.

You knocked back the remainders of the firewhisky, embracing the burn in your throat as well as the warmness growing in your chest. 

There was no way you would take this. _He_ was the Death Eater. _He_ was the villain here. Not you.

You had just gotten out of your chair- albeit a bit unstably- to go give Malfoy a piece of your mind when a gentle arm grabbed your elbow. You spun to see green eyes looking at you curiously.

“All right, Y/N?” asked Harry, concern lining his features.

“Yes, of course,” you replied brightly.

Harry raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. You watched as he looked between you and the direction you were heading in, comprehension flooding his features. “Malfoy giving you trouble?”

“No.” Yes.

“Are you sure? Because the look on your face says I was just about to watch a murder take place.”

You took your arm from his grip. “I just wanted to have a word.”

Harry laughed. “Y/N, I won’t lie, we all wanted to pummel the blond weasel into the ground at one point, especially after the Battle. _But_ none of us did. You remember how much a of a mess we were as teenagers, and Malfoy just made the wrong decisions.”

You shook your head. “How can you just get over that? He helped _kill_ Dumbledore, remember?”

“He was being used. And look at the guy, he seems to be torturing himself enough as it is.” Not wrong.

There was silence for a moment before you ceded, “All right.”

Harry grinned, reminding you that he, too, was just barely out of his teens. Come to think of it, his 20th birthday was only a couple of weeks ago.

He led you to the other side of the pub where Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were seated. You greeted your friends happily, told them you missed them, answered all of their questions.

But when a noticeable platinum-blond head stood up, your eyes tracked him his entire way to the door.

Your mind was buzzing with questions. Had you really been on your way to hurt him? To yell at him? Because some part of you doubted that. It wasn’t anger that blinded you, more like something instinctual. As if you _wanted_ to be by Draco.

You shrugged internally.

After all, misery loves company.

-

The city was as loud as you remember, the red telephone booth just as compact.

The Ministry had called you back for more documents, more contracts, more signatures. It felt stupid. There was absolutely zero reason you should have to go through this again. You hated being there.

A feeling of entrapment stuck with you the entire time. Through the spiels the Ministry officials gave you and the shuffling of paper on desks. You looked forward to the moment you’d get to leave.

And when that moment finally arrived, you wasted no time getting to the lifts and working towards reaching the surface as fast as possible.

You should have noticed when everyone waiting for the lifts avoided a specific one. That, despite the decently sized crowd, not a single person entered the open one on the far left. You really should’ve held yourself back when you walked into that lift, not paying attention to who was in there until the doors had already shut.

Your heart tripped and stuttered as you were met with a tall figure in a black suit and grey- so very grey- eyes.

Draco was just as shocked as you, but he concealed it better. His eyes became impenetrable walls, his face clear of emotion.

You had read enough books to know occlumency when you saw it.

“Hey,” you half-whispered hesitantly. The two of you stood on opposite sides of the lift, as far apart as possible.

“Hello.” His voice was strained.

The lift was moving slowly. _Too_ slowly. 

Awkwardness and shyness filled the six feet between you.

There was a sad attempt at small talk that resulted in thick silence. You combed through everything you remembered about the Malfoys, their involvement with the Dark Lord.

They were a rich pureblood family, one of the most popular names in the wizarding world. At one point, they had also been the right hand of You-Know-Who. But, you remembered, they had fallen from that position when Lucius Malfoy was sent to Azkaban in your fifth year.

The walls tightened around you, inclining your chest to do the same. “Is this moving slow to you?” you asked Draco.

But he was already staring around, confusion and concern filling his face. You were about to repeat the question when the lift stopped abruptly, making you stumble with the roughness of it.

It didn’t start moving again.

It took all of two minutes for your lungs to collapse. 

You were trapped again, stuck within 4 thin walls of metal that were getting closer and closer together. The singular light bulb began flashing, flaring, flickering, making your vision stop, stumble, slip.

You were trapped in Hogwarts again surrounded by rubble mixed in with the same classmates you had known for the past seven years.

Lights from curses were flying in every direction and you barely avoided them, running to find Harry or Ron or Hermione or _anyone_ because there wasn’t a single chance for you to survive when you were all alone.

Fred’s pale, dead face stared at you, screamed at you, this was your fault, your fault, _your fault_.

Cold hands gripped your shoulders, jolting you. Oddly familiar lips were saying something a couple of inches from you, but you couldn’t hear anything except the cries from those who lived over those who died.

1 hand moved to hold the right side of your face, bringing your eyes to meet a pair of worried grey ones.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” The words, the question was muffled. It was like someone picked all the clouds from the sky and stuffed them into your ears and down your throat, too big to swallow, too stuck to spit out.

1 more hand wrapped fully around your 2 wrists and brought them to a chest, pushed them against it. You could feel the heartbeat under your fingers, it was fast, controlled, comfortable.

You focused on the steady beat, letting it wash over you. You matched your breathing to the rise and fall of the chest like a game of Simon Says.

Simon says breathe in. Inhale.

Simon says breathe out. Exhale.

After a couple of minutes, the world came back into focus and you noticed a slight marbling in the grey eyes in front of you. You were so close that you could see a few nearly imperceptible freckles dotting pale skin.

“Breathe, darling.”

Draco’s voice brought your eyes to his lips, feeling the way his quiet whisper sent minty air blowing oh-so-gently onto your face.

He noticed that you had come back to life and dropped your hands. Took a step back. Ran his left hand through his hair.

A bit of black peeked out from under his sleeve, something you could only see at this angle.

You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. What were you supposed to say? ‘Thank you for stopping me from having a panic attack’? ‘Sorry for making such a scene when you were probably just trying to ride in a lift like a normal person’?

Luckily, Draco spoke before you had to. He must’ve found a way to read minds while you were gone because all that came out of his mouth was, “You don’t have to say anything.”

You smiled shyly and nodded and thought maybe being an ex-Death Eater didn’t necessarily make you such a bad person.

The lift came back to life and resumed bringing you to the surface. The air fully reentered your lungs. A voice spoke through non-existent speakers: “Sorry for that, we appeared to have had slight magical difficulties, but we guarantee that the rest of your ride will be smooth and regular. And remember, ‘Ignorantia Juris Neminem Excusat’.”

As promised, you arrived at the Atrium quickly and without issue. You considered thanking every god and deity you knew when the doors of the lift opened.

You spared one last thankful nod at Draco, who returned it with one of his own, before briskly speeding out of the lift and towards the surface.

Laughter bubbled out of you as you made your way to the apartment. Of all things, of all _people_ , Draco Malfoy helped you. It was absurd. The boy who had spent years tormenting you had been the one to bring you back.

There were few things that could calm you after you began panicking, and somehow, he knew one of them. It was something you didn’t tell people- those types of breakdowns were usually kept to the privacy of your own dorm.

It didn’t make sense how _he_ could know how to react. How he knew that you needed few and spare touches or else you’d spiral even more. How he knew you needed something solid, like a heartbeat, to focus on.

You laughed again as you fitted your key into the lock. The wizarding world was always full of mysteries.

-

You had scared him. Badly.

The minute you had walked into the lift, Draco had known he was in for something painful.

And you did not disappoint.

He had apparated back to the manor as soon as he could and was in desperate need of a drink.

That had become his other coping mechanism- firewhisky.

The past few weeks had been exhausting. It had taken the Ministry an entire year, _365 fucking days_ , to even consider letting him walk free. Before that, he had been kept on house arrest or trapped in a room that felt more like a cell but ‘at least it’s not dementors’. Because that’s where everyone thought he and the rest of the Malfoys were heading. Azkaban.

It was all supposed to be over. His last hearing was supposed to be exactly that- his last. But the Minister wasn’t done with Draco, not yet. 

He fulfilled his promise and brought out the Veritaserum.

 _I don’t think you have been completely honest with us, Mr. Malfoy_ , Shacklebolt had told him. _People like you don’t just become good out of nowhere._

The Minister had spat those last few words. 

_People like you._

Honestly, the Minister was an idiot, blinded by his own anger. If he had done any _real_ research of his past, Shacklebolt would’ve known how good of an Occlumens Draco was, and therefore, could resist Veritaserum without issue.

Draco wasn’t hiding information for any actual reason, he just thought that he had made the choice to be a Death Eater. And they had welcomed him. It was the closest thing to a family Draco had felt in a long time.

He also didn’t appreciate having to spill his guts in front of so many people. 

His father took the brunt of the scrutiny and interrogations, with no protest on Draco’s behalf, and fed the Ministry enough information to last them years. It was the biggest reason they had stayed out of Azkaban.

He drained his glass and refilled it, rubbing his temples in hopes of relieving his migraine. You had scared the shit out of him.

Memories of your time in the Astronomy Tower assaulted him. Hours spent in each other's arms under the stars. _You_ had been his family, his home. What he had done in the lift had happened more times than you knew.

Two years and he never forgot it, never forgot the way your chest restricted, how your vision nearly disappeared, how you felt adrift with no tether to bring you back.

He never forgot it because he had understood the feeling so well.

-

_Dear Y/N,_

_I didn’t know. I didn’t know you had been suffering so badly, didn’t know you were as haunted as I._

_Did I do this?_

_I should’ve spoken to you, talked to you, given you some piece of me beyond that stupid letter. I should’ve come back to you._

_But I was scared. I know that the memory charm can be reversed but I had been drowning in grief and guilt so heavily that I thought it was just another thing to torture myself with._

_Would you accept me if you knew everything I did? Because I was not as forced as it seems. Merlin, I had done those things happily._

_I had just erased you and felt worthless. Lost. So, I put everything I had left, however little it was, into my life as a Death Eater. It was the last solid thing left in my life._

_If I’m being truthful, siding with Him- Voldemort- and embracing being a Death Eater had been my own form of self-destruction._

_But in the midst of things, of battle, of having Harry Potter on the floor of Malfoy Manor, something changed._

_I realized that you wouldn’t remember me, that I had lost you, and nothing I could do would bring you back to me. But I also knew that if you were to ever know me again, I wanted to be someone you could be proud to call yours._

_Because that’s what I am and always have been. Yours._

_So I helped Potter because I knew that that was something you could have an inch of your bloody Gryffindor pride in._

_I know now that while it technically wasn’t all for nothing, it truly does feel that way. I see the lack of recognition in your eyes whenever you see me, the lack of love. And it hurts like hell._

_How is time supposed to heal all wounds when my source of pain is infinite?_

_I love you,_

_D.M._


	3. 505: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of 505. You have fully begun readjusting to the Wizarding World, with the help of Draco Malfoy, that is. But now, you are determined to retrieve the memories you swore you lost- no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 11.6k
> 
> Warnings: dark themes- torture, tiny form of self harm, alcoholism, hints at non-con but only if you squint, just overall darkness and bad coping.
> 
> a/n: i love everyone has shown love for 505 and its finally being ended. i know this chapter is long but i just had so much to put in so i hope you enjoy. i will be making tag lists for all my fics so leave an ask if you’d like to be put on the list for a specific character. ALSO THERES BOUND TO BE REALLY BAD TYPOS BUT IF I HAVE TO READ THIS ONE MORE TIME IM GONNA SCREAM ILY

You had woken up in a cold sweat with a scream buried somewhere deep in your throat.

Another nightmare, flashback, reminder.

At least this time the sun was already rising when you woke up.

Cool air greeted you as you threw off the covers and began to get ready for another eventless day dealing with all things Muggle-related. Your stomach turned throughout the same routine you followed morning after morning.

You spent the next ten hours in a state of distraction with a lingering sense of nausea. By the end of the day, you were starving and had no appetite for food. So, in an attempt to solve the issue, you visited a Muggle coffee shop on your way back to the apartment.

Caffeine was what you needed. Sharp and energizing.

A shock to your system.

The bell rang lightly as you entered the shop and embraced the warm feeling of coffee and fresh pastry. The line was short and as soon as you knew it, you were ordering a large drink.

You ignored the scorching of your tongue and sipped it quickly. Your feet carried you to the door but something made you pause. Turn around. Search the many faces of the customers now crowding the small shop.

A head of platinum hair that was getting increasingly more familiar caught your eye. He was standing at the register with a face twisted with confusion and irritation, likely from having to deal with Muggles.

You smothered your amusement and, in a moment of possibly bad judgment, you walked up beside him, a laughing smile on your face.

Draco jumped when he saw you, the scowl on his face configuring into a small smile after seeing your own. Something about it made your heart stutter.

“Struggling?” you asked him, the same smile playing on your lips.

His scowl returned. “These Muggle places make no sense. What the hell is a cappuccino and why is it so different from a latte?”

This time, the situation got the better of you and you barked out a laugh. Draco’s eyes twinkled slightly, but he shut it down quickly. 

“A latte has more milk than a cappuccino and less foam,” you answered.

He raised his eyebrows, still not understanding.

You eyed the flask peeking out of his pocket and the fingers that were nervously playing with it. The distressed look in his eyes. “Either way, I don’t think that’s what you’re looking for,” you pointed subtly to the hand. 

His expression hardened but indicated for you to continue.

You turned to the cashier. “A large hot coffee, please. And go easy on the cream and sugar.”

The cashier was all too happy to finally get an order. “Can I get a name for that?”

“Draco Malfoy.”

Out the corner of your eye, you saw Draco tense and he looked to be in physical pain as you spoke. Had you said something wrong? You looked at him curiously, but he just shook his head.

 _Forget it_ , he spoke with his eyes.

The cashier took the order quickly, and while Draco tried to figure out Muggle money, you pulled out your own cash. You ignored his protests as you paid for his drink.

“Consider it a thank you. For the other day,” you added. He tried to protest again, but you had already reached for his wrist to pull him along.

But as you neared it, he flinched, hiding the hand behind his back. He watched the hurt flicker in and out of your face and began apologizing. “Sorry. _Fuck_ , that’s not what I meant.”

You began walking, gesturing for him to follow. You tried to hide the guilt. “No, it’s my fault. I don’t like quick movements either. And I shouldn’t have reached out like that anyway and I didn’t even consider that we’ve only _just_ started having civilized conversations after Merlin-knows-how long and even after that-”

He cut off your babbling with a chuckle, an unknown look in his eyes. “Y/N, that’s not what I meant,” he repeated. “It’s just that you had reached for my left arm,” he shook the arm lightly, signaling to his forearm, “and it’s a bit...erm...sensitive.”

You wished you had told someone to put _‘Death by Mortification’_ on your gravestone because that was surely how you’d go.

But Draco reached his right arm out for you, indicating for you to take it. “It’s all right,” he said. “Really.”

Gingerly, you wrapped your hand around his right wrist, not missing the way he jumped slightly. When the coffee had finished and was placed on the waiting bar, you dropped his arm and grabbed the cup instead, now carrying both yours and his drink.

This time, you _tried_ to miss the way that a little disappointment filled you because you were no longer touching.

Draco was silent, thinking, as he followed you to the farthest and most secluded seats from the crowd. It was two oversized armchairs and a small circular table in the corner, light coming from a dim lamp behind it all.

Once seated, he reached for his own cup and took a sip, disgust filling his face. “How do people drink this shit?” he asked, lip curling.

You brought your knees up to your chest and your cup close to your face, breathing in the warmth. Your eyes met his over the lid and your heart tightened. “I ordered it for a reason.” He watched as you quickly snatched the flask that was close to falling from his pocket.

His eyes tracked your hands as they grabbed and set both of your drinks down onto the table, removing their lids. You opened the flask and a familiar smell greeted you- firewhisky.

Excitement filled you as you poured the alcohol into both of your drinks, the majority going into Draco’s.

He looked like he could use it.

Then, you replaced the tops and handed it back to him. Watched him sip once, twice, a third time.

The twinkle returned along with a slight smirk.

“A day drinker as well?” Draco asked, impressed.

“Whatever gets me through the day.”

Something more than just understanding flooded his face. His eyes tracked as you bit your lip nervously. He turned away, hand tightening around the cup.

Unlike what happened in the lift, conversation flowed easily between you. Almost as simple as breathing. You felt comfortable with him- and that unnerved you. How could you be at ease with a Death Eater?

 _Ex-Death Eater_ , you reminded yourself.

You wanted to laugh or maybe cry at the fact that talking to Draco felt like second nature. That the years spent arguing and fighting were all for nothing.

And maybe it was the firewhisky or the low lighting or the way that you had finally found someone else who hadn’t gotten over the War, but next thing you knew you were telling Draco so many things.

Personal things.

You sensed the anger from earlier again, but you realized something else with it. It wasn’t directed _at_ you- it was more like it was _about_ you.

Baffling, that’s what it really was.

And just as confusing was that Draco was a surprisingly good listener.

“So what about you?” you asked after a while of mindless chatter. “Why would Draco Malfoy ever be found in a Muggle coffee shop?”

His picture-perfect image blended with a bit of shame, but not completely muddling it. More like adding character. Adding depth.

“I’m not always so welcome in the wizarding ones. They only know me from my Death Eater days, nothing more. It makes them nervous.”

Fighting the urge to reach out and grab his hand, you teased, “And the coffee part? You don’t seem to have much experience with it.” 

“Just trying to find something to stop me from all the...” He waved his hand over his flask, cluing to a clear dependency on the alcohol.

You smiled. His pale face obtained a light pink color on the cheeks.

He really was ashamed.

Compassion sent an arrow through your heart. You knew what it was like to search for something, anything, that would come close to healing you. The coping mechanism he adopted during wartime had turned out to be the thing destroying him the most.

“Baby steps,” you assured him.

He smiled back.

-

A lifetime and no time at all had passed.

Draco missed this, missed you.

The drinks were long since finished, the tipsiness long-faded. You must’ve been in the shop for at least two hours. It was just as it had always been between the two of you.

His fingers itched for a quill and a certain black journal, the little firewhisky in his system not doing enough. Draco had to occlude in order to hide the pain, the loss he was feeling.

But he would sacrifice himself if it meant you had someone to talk to. There was this blushing whenever you thought you had spoken too much or when Draco had been quiet for a long time, but he made it a point to reassure you. To encourage you to keep going.

The Ministry mandated that he see a Healer for his mind. A therapist, they called it. And though he had hated it and gave them the bare minimum, they had still pounded into his head the importance of not bottling emotions.

Even if he didn’t think that applied to himself.

The tides turned, however, when you brought up the one thing he desperately hoped you wouldn’t.

Memory loss.

“I just,” you paused, “feel like a piece of me is missing. Gone. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to handle it.”

Guilt threatened to eat him alive. “And you never went to the Healers about it? Or even therapy? I heard it’s very popular in the Muggle world.”

Your voice had quieted, a small, sad smile forming. “I never thought I was capable of it. To relive it all. I would think that to be a horrible existence, wouldn’t you? To live bound to the past? I couldn’t wake up every day and live beside those memories.”

He was drowning. There was water filling his lungs, rising and rising and rising. He did this. He _ruined_ you.

His fingers no longer craved ink and parchment. No, he was beyond that, beyond just ‘coping’. He needed something stronger, to numb him, lidocaine in the form of a burn at the back of his throat and warmth blooming throughout his body.

His left forearm itched.

His right hand obliged. 

He felt the scabs reopen, the trickle of blood flow down his arm. He welcomed it, welcomed the physical pain because it was still a better alternative to the mental.

Permanent scratches marred the Mark. It started as an attempt to disfigure, to change its branding. Soon, it shifted into the sheer effort of ridding himself of it.

One of his few wishes in the world was to feel clean again. Unbranded. Unblemished.

Minutes of silence only disturbed by his subtle scratching later, Draco managed to respond slowly, “I believe that pain is a part of life, and that to know you are still alive- and I mean truly alive, not just surviving- is to let yourself feel that pain. Because you will learn that even mental hurt has the potential to be fatal.”

Your eyes glistened and Draco froze again, praying he didn’t hurt you. He watched as you reached a hand out and gently placed it on his left arm- over _it_. 

He didn’t flinch this time.

Your other hand held his left one, allowing the blood that had dribbled onto it to get on your skin, stuck between your hands. He realized that maybe his scratching hadn’t been as unnoticeable as he thought.

Your voice was warm and soothing as you spoke. Coaxing, even.

“And I believe, Draco Malfoy, that you ought to start listening to your own advice.”

-

_Dear Y/N,_

_You have never once failed to amaze me._

_In every way, in every shape, in every form, you are the reincarnation of Hesperus._

_My own personal Evening Star._

_The world could be crashing down around us and I would be content to sit and watch it all burn, if only so you could be my last, so very beautiful sight._

_I wanted to be mad, angry, enraged. I wanted fury to blind me rather than guilt. And you know what? I almost failed._

_I’m sure it was clear as day- at least to you and your gift for reading me- that the grief had begun to consume me._

_But you, my love, had saved me yet again._

_I have not a single doubt in my mind that you are my salvation._

_And for the first time in months, I hadn’t drowned myself in firewhisky last night. I hadn’t gotten wasted to avoid dealing with my thoughts. And as stupid as that may seem, as pathetic as it is, it was a huge fucking step._

_And I like to think that if I were to tell you that, you wouldn’t laugh. That you’d be proud of me._

_My heart is going to explode,_

_D.M._

-

He had inspired you.

Right before you had first left, you made one visit to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. It was a final attempt at finding your missing parts and pieces.

In desperation, you had begged them to test you for the memory charm. It was the last answer you could think of- that your memory had been erased.

But they had turned you away.

 _War causes all sorts of trauma_ , they had told you. _Even_ if _you were obliviated, there are no ways for us to reverse it in your current state._

Because memory charms are not designed to be undone. At least that’s what most people thought.

But you distinctly remember Harry telling you about Bertha Jorkins and how the Dark Lord had reversed the charm Barty Crouch placed on her.

Through torture.

It didn’t matter how much you tried and pleaded, they still refused to help you.

Draco had inspired you to try again. You had never found out if the memory charm had actually been placed on you, but you were more than willing to try now. You _had_ to know. Because if you knew who'd cast the charm, you would know who had written the letter that you read every night without fail.

That’s why you now stood in a small room, bright fluorescent lights reflecting off the brighter linoleum floors. You were picking at your nails in an effort to distract yourself while waiting for the Healer.

And the world seemed to be working in your favor because just as you thought it, Healer Kelpis walked through the door.

He was a short old man that held decades of strength in his aged bones. Kelpis looked exactly as you remembered him, kind eyes and a kinder smile.

The same eyes and smile that turned you away the first time you had approached him.

“Hello, Ms. Y/L/N. It’s nice to see you again,” he said politely.

“It’s nice to see you too, Healer Kelpis,” you responded.

He asked you why you were here. Previous inquiries.

Are you feeling okay? Just peachy.

How has readjusting been? Just as peachy, if not more so.

Have you seen a mental health professional while you were gone? Definitely not.

Why haven’t you? Been just too peachy to need it.

Kelpis was annoyed. He rammed you with the same questions in different wording over and over, but he only ever received the same answer.

That you were completely fine except for the fact that you weren’t.

You explained the situation. How you wanted to test for magical memory loss. And if it were true, if you had been _obliviated_ , you were willing to go through any treatment necessary. At any cost. You _needed_ the memories.

After all that and more, Kelpis finally agreed. “I suppose we can run a few tests...but we wouldn’t receive anything conclusive for at least a few weeks.”

You grinned because this had been the best news you’d received in a long, long time. “That’s all right, I can wait. Can we start now?”

The Healer sighed and shook his head, a smile on his face. “Yes, we can start now.”

You felt like 11-years-old again and getting your letter to Hogwarts. 12-years-old and Hermione had just been unpetrified. 13-years-old and you just saved Sirius Black and Buckbeak. 

14-years-old and Harry was lucky to be alive and that was enough for you. 15-years-old and you just barely made it from the Department of Mysteries but at least you and your friends were still breathing. 16-years-old and…

And what?

Your grin fell.

-

You were wasted. Piss. Fucking. Drunk.

It had been over a month and St. Mungo’s never sent back your results. You weren’t dumb, you knew what that meant.

Nothing was wrong. There was no charm, no abnormality, no anomaly. You did this to yourself, _you_ were the reason you were still suffering. Nothing and no one else but your own stupid self.

Why the fuck were you in so much pain? Why couldn’t you just be fucking normal?

Why in Merlin’s name were you sitting in a dirty Muggle pub gulping down what felt like your hundredth drink? And why was it still not enough?

You giggled and swayed precariously on your stool. Muggles were crowding near you, peering at you, putting arms around you.

 _They’re going to take advantage of you_ , the back of your head said.

 _Shut up_ , you told it and buried it down, unconcerned with the danger.

You wanted to let yourself go, forget about everything around you. Let someone else take the wheel for once. The memories and loss were too much to handle tonight and you dreamt of having not a single responsibility, not a single thought in your head.

Your hand went up to signal you needed more of what you’d been drinking for at least an hour now. Or maybe something stronger…

“Don’t listen to her,” a flat voice told the bartender from behind you. You spun to see Draco Malfoy looking down at you, noticeably less alcohol in his system.

You giggled again and pushed him back, nearly falling off the stool in the process. “ _I said_ another Cosmopolitan, please. Or wait,” you paused, faux-thinking, “ _whisky_ , instead.”

Draco went so still you thought one touch would send him crumbling to the ground. He grabbed your elbow and pulled you up, still gentler than you expected he’d be. He grabbed a bundle of Muggle cash that you could tell was way too much and dropped it down onto the bar.

He began to pull you out of the bar, but a sweaty hand latched onto you and pulled you in another direction. An equally gross voice that made your skin crawl murmured by your ear, “Leaving so soon?”

You pushed away but Draco already had the man’s chest slammed up against the wall, the same arm that touched you twisted painfully behind his back. The deadly look in Draco’s eyes told you all you needed to know about what was being whispered into the man’s ear.

The pub darkened and you felt the world tilt on its axis. Your arms went out but before you could fall, an arm banded around your waist. But unlike the previous one, this arm, this hand, this safety net was secure. _You_ were secure.

Draco called out from beside you, his voice everywhere and nowhere at once, “Pans, let’s go.”

You jumped and stared around, looking for who he was talking to. Your jaw decided to make friends with your shoelaces and hang down there as Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, _and_ Blaise Zabini walked up to you, somehow finding a way to stay grounded as the earth fell out of orbit and took you with it.

Your stomach turned and you felt your nausea rise up once more. The now-larger group pushed out of the bar and you gulped down the cold night air hungrily. Your knees buckled and you lurched forward and emptied the near-empty pits of your stomach into a bush.

Draco reached and pulled your hair back. “Did you eat anything today?”

You shook your head, feeling like death. “I haven’t been able to keep anything down,” you murmured.

“Idiot.”

A laugh escaped you, but was interrupted as the nausea increased tenfold. In the back of your mind, you registered a hand rubbing in small circles on your upper back.

“We’re going to Apparate to my manor, just let me know when you’re ready,” Draco told you.

Fear coursed through you as you looked back at him. Draco you could handle, even enjoy, having around. But Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were a different story.

You shook your head violently and thought of the picture you must’ve made. Bent over and shaking, a deer in the headlights, sick and drunk.

“Relax, they moved out to one of our country homes earlier this year. I have the manor to myself.” It was scary how easily he could read you.

After a few more minutes of dry retching, you regained your balance enough to straighten and tell him you were ready. “At least Apparate me to a toilet, I’m going to need it.”

He laughed again and looked to the others, ensuring they were ready. Then, he wrapped an arm around your waist to Side-Along Apparate with him. “Hold on tight.”

Your hand gripped firmly onto what you soon realized was his left arm. But before you could grab on somewhere else, he started Apparating.

You were being squeezed through an impossibly small tube and everything pushed together and you were twisting and turning and your head felt heavy with cotton.

It had been too long since you last even came close to Apparating.

Suddenly, there was hard ground underneath your feet and you would’ve fallen towards it if it weren’t for the arm still banded around your waist. A lapse in judgment and care had you leaning into Draco’s body.

“Bathroom,” you pleaded/moaned/groaned.

He listened.

He carried half your body weight as you stumbled up a staircase and into a black and white marbled bathroom. It was exactly how you expected it to look. Draco reached into a closet and pulled out a towel and a spare plastic toothbrush and handed them to you.

“We’ll be downstairs if you need us.” He rubbed the back of his neck a little nervously. “Pansy’s here too, if you need her,” he added.

You nodded and pushed him out the door, locking it once it was closed. Privacy, peace, isolation- that was what you needed.

The Apparition made you even woozier, and you kneeled in front of the toilet, only spitting up bile. Maybe you shouldn’t have kicked Draco out so soon.

The shower warmed quickly as you turned it on, the steam melting the little makeup stubbornly sticking to your face. Every part of you relaxed as the warm water met your body, and you had to hold back a groan of pleasure from it. 

You scrubbed your body raw. Raw of feeling, raw of emotion, raw of heady alcohol. Letting the feeling wash over you, you picked up one of the many soaps in Draco’s collection and breathed in the clean scent.

It centered you, sobered you. You watched as rivulets of water ran down your body, racing through the curves and soft angles. It was a little beautiful.

After a long time that still felt too short, you exited the shower and brushed your teeth, paying special attention to your tongue in hopes of removing the disgusting taste from your mouth. It seemed Pansy had conjured a pair of clothes onto the vanity in the bathroom, and you happily put them on, making your dirtied ones disappear with a wave of your wand.

As you padded down the stairs, you finger-combed your hair in an attempt to improve the awful first impression you must’ve made earlier. The Slytherins were clearly very close, a tightly knit group that had to face so much scrutiny from such a young age.

You almost choked on air at the scene taking place when you found them.

Pansy was dancing provocatively on the table, clearly drunk, to a slow waltz. It appeared to be a mocking of an interpretive dance.

An amused Draco met your eyes and beckoned you over to the couch he was sitting at alone, and you were still laughing as you sat down on it, curling up by the other arm. He wordlessly handed you a blanket, sensing your coldness.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

You weren’t talking about the blanket.

His eyes warmed and he shook his head, your gratitude unnecessary. He turned back to watch Pansy continue her show, Theo and Blaise cheering her on.

Without turning your head, you reached a hand out slowly and grabbed his, giving it a small squeeze, a small message, before letting go.

 _I’m sorry_ , it said.

But before you could fully pull away, he caught it, giving your hand two squeezes of his own.

_I’m here for you._

-

Theo had joined Pansy on the table, both of them missing shirts and risking brain damage from falling.

It had started out as a game of Truth or Dare- plus a little alcohol to speed things up.

After he had brought you to the bathroom, Blaise had been waiting with three bottles. Butterbeer, vodka, and firewhisky. Draco got first choice.

This was different. He wasn’t drinking out of pain or to cope. No, this was a small gathering of his closest friends. Very different.

Right?

He hadn’t expected to find you at the pub alone tonight. Had been filled with a special sort of anger when he did find you, anger partly aimed at himself. Draco didn’t want you to turn to alcohol like had- like he still did.

And the rage only increased when he noted the people hanging around your drunken state. He wanted to kill anyone that so much as took one step too close- nearly did kill the one who had grabbed you.

He had to remind himself to keep his cool. He wasn’t your owner or protector. He was just a friend, that’s all.

“So what were you lot doing at a Muggle pub?” you asked, mainly speaking to Pansy, Theo, and Blaise. Draco had already explained his reasons.

Pansy collapsed dramatically onto one of the couches and reached for the vodka in Blaise’s hand. She drank deeply before answering, “Pub crawl. These wizards don’t like us enough to leave us to ourselves.” She shrugged, “Perks of being Death Eaters, I suppose.”

“ _Ex_ -Death Eaters,” Draco corrected. It was like she was trying to scare you off.

Pansy wrinkled her nose. She pulled up her left sleeve and pointed to the Dark Mark standing in stark contrast against her tan skin, looking directly at you before turning to Draco. “Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, Drakey-poo. Or did the Dark Lord not beat that into your brain enough.”

He was waiting for you to flinch, to cower, to scoot as far as possible away from him. But you didn’t. You sat there relaxed, just absorbing Pansy’s words.

You weren’t afraid of him. Didn’t hate him.

“Grow up, Pansy. War’s over and all we have to show for it is a glorified tattoo,” Draco retorted a little halfheartedly. 

He couldn’t help the slight speeding of his heart, nor could he the hand that wrapped around the neck of the bottle he kept to himself the whole night. His throat burned.

Shame snaked up his body as he noticed your eyes watching him. Not judging, not condescending, only watching. A small, comforting smile.

He considered putting the bottle down. Not drinking anymore. Staying as abstinent as you for the rest of the night. He wanted you to be proud, to see that he wasn’t some ex-Death Eater with a taste for firewhisky.

That smile stopped him. Played on a loop in his mind.

He really did consider it. Truly.

But that was where it stopped- consideration.

He raised the bottle back up to his lips.

It tasted like sympathy and burned just as bad.

-

_Dear Y/N,_

_I…_

_Truly, I have no words. I’m at a loss because I’m racking my brain for the right vowels, consonants, syllables to place in neat little lines to form sentences, paragraphs, emotions._

_Why did you have to go to the bar?_

_Why am I so hung up on you that I can’t get the picture out of my mind?_

_In a way, I’m mad. And I know you would chastise me for having anger be my only outlet, but nonetheless, it’s how I feel._

_I can no longer distinguish what I’m angry at. Is it me? Is it you? Is it the memories?_

_I don’t think it could ever actually be you. Merlin, if I could, I would put you on an altar and spend the rest of my meaningless life worshipping you. I would rip myself open and sacrifice every part and piece of me for you to survive on._

_Scarlet blood would be dripping from my eyes in the form of teardrops and falling down to you. I am bound to you. Blood and flesh; mind and body._

_It’s quite gruesome if you think about it._

_Perhaps I’ve begun to sound like a broken record, but I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you that St. Mungo’s had made a completely irrelevant mistake. The two weren’t tied. When you get that message, those results, it will be exactly what you want._

_Long after Pansy and everyone left, you had sat next to me on the couch and told me why you were drinking yourself away tonight. That you had been denied the one possibility that had kept you moving all this time._

_My heart shattered into a million sharp and irregular pieces, too broken to glue back together._

_The tears in your eyes, the heartbreak. It hurt._

_I wanted to tell you so bad- so, so bad. But I can’t do that- I’m too much of a coward._

_You told me you’d never forgive me- never accept me. I can’t handle that._

_When you brought up the letter, I nearly died right there._

_I wasn’t the person you were expecting. You were looking for someone bold like a Gryffindor; kind like a Hufflepuff; brilliant like a Ravenclaw._

_What you were not looking for was someone evil like a Slytherin._

_But that was a funny thing. Before, whenever I brought my own malevolence up, you always rebutted it with one thing:_

_“You call yourself evil. The bad guy. But I don’t believe that, not for a second. And even if you were the so-called enemy in my story, that doesn’t change a thing. Because maybe I don’t mind dating the villain. Maybe I’d even prefer it. Maybe the world feels a little better because I know that if you ever were to lose me, you’d burn it all down until you could bring me from the ashes.”_

_I never had a response to that and it never left my mind. It stuck with me for so long because it was so perfectly true._

_Because yes. I would set the bloody world on fire- I nearly did the first time I had lost you._

_And I would dig you out, dust you off, and together we would rule a land of ruin and embers._

_Until the very end,_

_D.M._

-

After your drunken experience, you and Draco began to get closer.

It started off small- little touches here, surprise coffee shop visits there. It was all kept very light, fun, easy.

It was just what you needed.

No connections, no ties, no loose ends. He asked nothing of you and neither did you of him.

You learned the dynamics of his and the other Slytherins’ relationship. How they had grown up under the eyes of too many. How the dark arts had alienated their lives. Pansy and Draco had put on a show throughout Hogwarts, a display to pacify their parents. 

Blaise had shut down so bad over time that Draco was one of the few people he could relax around. They had been the closest within the group, more than friends- brothers.

Your heart especially broke for Theo. He had always maintained a bubbly persona, never faltering and constantly smiling. You hadn’t expected to learn about the brutal beatings he endured growing up. The way he had been blamed for his mother’s death.

Homophobia ran deep within the Notts. And Theo coming out as bisexual hadn’t helped.

Every Saturday, the group went out for drinks and returned back to Malfoy Manor to celebrate another week survived. Because even though the Battle of Hogwarts may have ended, theirs had not.

They began inviting you to come with them. And you swore it started to feel a little like a family.

-

Weeks passed by without your notice. In a good way.

You had never expected to be a Gryffindor inducted into a group of Slytherins. It was one of your favorite things to happen.

They had such a passiveness among them, understanding. Harry, Ron, Hermione- all of them- were always asking something of you. Always begged you to give a little more. Take the initiative, heal yourself. You couldn’t sit around in sadness for the rest of your life, could you?

But Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Theo- they never asked you for anything. They were all struggling with their own issues, so they would never pass judgment onto yours. Nothing was ever brought up, but the minute you wished to come clean about something, they would have nothing but ears and eyes open, an arm ready to comfort.

It almost made you believe that maybe you didn’t _need_ your past.

That maybe you could make new memories.

-

The day it had arrived had been one of rain and thunder.

A storm brewing that promised power and change to follow in its wake.

You had always loved storms. The steady pitter-patter on the windows, the rumbling in the distance, the flashes of light. So many people were all experiencing the same exact storm as you, and you’d never know their stories. Something about it was relaxing- therapeutic.

However, the one time you _didn’t_ enjoy the rain was when you had to walk to work in it. You had to sit through the day stuck with a chill and wet socks.

The most undesirable of mixtures.

But the day was not completely ruined because the only thing better than a storm was a storm spent in a coffee shop. Draco was on his way to walk with you to the shop you two regularly frequented. You had to find a way to pass the time or else you’d be staring at a clock for the next half-hour.

A few minutes before he was expected to get to your work, you remembered to check your mail. The first few weeks after your visit to St. Mungo’s, you had checked for letters obsessively. But now, not only have you stopped expecting anything, but you had also begun not to care so much.

Despite that, you couldn’t hold back your excitement nor the sudden shaking of your hands when you found a letter designated for you from one St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

You fought the tremors as you walked out of the mailroom, opening the letter as you went. In the back of your head, you registered the lift dinging, indicating someone had just arrived. 

The letter was apologizing. There had been a delay in their mailing system that prevented many messages from being delivered for weeks. 

Then, the letter was giving you results. Your eyes scanned down, down, down until-

**Memory Charm:** Positive

Your entire body was shaking. This, this right here, was what you’d been waiting for two and a half tortuously long years. These were your odds, your opportunity.

And there wasn’t a single chance you weren’t going to grab it by the neck.

Your eyes broke away from the paper to see Draco a few feet away, curiosity with a dash of fear on his face. You subconsciously felt tears falling and before you could realize what you were doing, your arms were around his neck.

You were hugging Draco Malfoy.

He was still for a moment and right as you considered pulling away, his arms came around you, holding you to him. His chest rose and fell slightly, barely breathing.

The letter was crumpled in your hand and emotions were overwhelming you, but you had enough sense to whisper around the tears, “I was right. And I’m going to get my memories back.”

He tensed once again. But when you finally pulled back, his arms tightened for a moment, almost like a reflex. Maybe you were insane, but Draco almost seemed reluctant to let go.

It took you a moment to realize that those were tears in his eyes as well.

-

_Dear Y/N,_

_you’re tearing me apart_

_-D._

-

He couldn’t do this.

You were going to get the memories back. Memories _he_ stole from you.

You would never forgive him.

Would he even be able to help you? Could he do that to himself? It was the most acute form of torture. He wouldn’t survive it.

He was in deep-fucking-shit.

-

Linoleum floors. Bright lights. St. Mungo’s was a mirror image throughout.

You had scheduled your appointment almost immediately after you received the letter. Anticipation had weeded its way into your bones.

It felt like ages before the Healer finally arrived. He was unfamiliar and wore the same lime-green robes as everyone else there. The Healer sat down and began explaining the treatment plan.

“First of all, I’m Healer Luca. I and a few of my colleagues will be in charge of your case. The details of your memory loss are quite intricate, and whoever had cast it must’ve been quite skillful.”

You searched your brain for possibilities and probabilities, but arrived at nothing. You hadn’t a single clue as to who could’ve been so advanced- at memory charms, of all things.

Luca continued, “If you were to ever remember or have an idea as to who cast this charm, it will make things much easier. Since they put the charm on you, they would have the best chance at removing it. I’ve been told you already have an understanding of how a memory charm is to be reversed?”

You nodded your head, mouth not capable of forming words.

“Well, then you know that there is a unique type of treatment. It is quite rare that we allow a patient to undertake the process, but given that you are a hero and friend of Harry Potter, we will let you.”

He moved on, “You have to be completely certain this is something you want. The Cruciatus Curse is not a kind one- but it is the most powerful and useful. I’m sorry to say that none of what is coming will be pleasant.”

The Cruciatus Curse.

An Unforgivable.

You waited for the fear, the hesitance, the second thoughts. But nothing came. You had not waited this long to let one little curse stop you. And besides, you had already faced it before during the Battle.

It was one of those things you kept pushed down, the memories of the Dolohov cornering you, laughing in your face after killing Lupin. You wanted to return the favor.

But he had seen this on your face. Decided to play with you a bit. You had completely let go when he Imperiused you. Made yourself forget what happened. But the pain of the Cruciatus never left you.

You never thanked Professor Flitwick for saving you. It was too little too late.

Ignoring the paleness you knew entered your face, you turned back to Healer Luca and nodded again. “This is what I want. I’ll do whatever.”

The Healer made you sign a million different contracts and liability forms. This was not something that could be undone.

“We can start today if you’d like,” he offered.

You smiled, “Yes, I’d prefer that.”

The next thirty minutes were a blur of explanations and making sure you were ready. They told you how, since your case was so unique and complex, you’d be administered a memory potion as well as the Curse. They wanted to do everything they could to make this as easy as possible.

And finally, they brought you to a new room. This one had the same floors, same lighting, but it was empty aside from the metal table in the center. And the straps that were attached to it.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

The thought of being trapped and tied down with no way of getting away was more horrifying than any curse they could’ve cast on you. The world moved in slow motion as they led you to that table and strapped you down.

They asked one more time if you were okay and ready.

You nodded numbly, not so sure but unwilling to go back now. You drank the memory potion they had handed to you and shut your eyes, clenching and unclenching your fists.

Everything echoed loudly as you heard, “ _Crucio_.”

-

It started as pain.

Pain everywhere, pain in your bones, pain in your lungs, pain in your heart. It didn’t stop. No, it only increased. It was hurt in your head that reached all the way down to the tips of your toes, leaving not one inch of skin unexposed to it.

Your skin was being flayed, acid being thrown, every nerve set on fire. You barely registered your body arching off the table, only kept on it by the straps you had been so concerned with just moments before.

Silly mistake.

It was immeasurable. There were hundreds of thousands of white-hot knives being dragged across your skin, puncturing and burning everything. 

During the Battle, you had barely understood it all, too distracted by everything else, adrenaline running. But now...now you could feel _everything_.

And if the physical pain had been bad, the mental was absolutely brutal. You couldn’t see anything, your eyes were rolling in pain, but you felt so much more.

It was your family screaming at you for being so weak. Your friends looking at you in disappointment because you could’ve done something, anything, to stop all of this. The dead spread out through the Great Hall, so many lost.

George Weasley bent over his twin's body, shouting at you through the tears. _Why hadn’t you stopped this? You could’ve saved him! You did this!_

You were strangled by guilt and sadness so heavy that you thought you’d never recover. Your heart sank down and shriveled up. The pit of your stomach was endless and everything felt through it.

Then, it shifted. You saw stars- no, not that kind. You worked around the pain to see hundreds of beautiful and bright stars shining in the night sky. It was a perfect view from one of the many towers at Hogwarts.

Your chest tightened. Tears began to fall in earnest. Wherever you were, whatever familiar scene you were watching, you wanted to go back. Would do anything to go back.

Your hand had just reached up to your neck to feel something, a piece of metal- _a ring?_ \- when everything changed again. The stars began to wink out, one by one, and you were thrust into the darkness.

-

“Draco, slow down.”

He ignored her. His feet pounded quickly on the tile, searching and searching for your room.

Pansy grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “Draco.”

“ _Pansy_.”

“She’s going to be fine. They told us she was still breathing and alive,” she urged.

Draco shook her hand off, dragging his own through his hair, breathing ragged. “You know just as well as I do how bad the Cruciatus is, don’t act like you don’t. She’s probably never experienced it before- and at least we had each other the first time we felt it.”

They had been relaxing at the manor, waiting for Theo and Blaise to arrive for drinks. None of them ever spent much time alone in their own homes anymore, the silence was too haunting.

A small piece of parchment had appeared on the table with Draco’s name on it. All he had to see was ‘St. Mungo’s’ and your name together before he Apparated directly outside the hospital, Pansy right behind.

The wards prevented anyone from Apparating in, so they had to wait a painfully long time to even find out where your room was. As usual, the wizards were wary of having a group of ex-Death Eaters hanging around, but Draco’s name had been your emergency contact, so they had to let him through.

As for Pansy,...well, she never did take no for an answer.

“Of course I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re running yourself into the ground here. Do you want her to remember you or not?” Pansy asked as they began moving again, a slower pace this time.

He stayed quiet and focused on finding your room. Draco didn’t have an answer to that- had been trying to find one for months. Obviously, he wanted you to know him again, to be happy.

But would you really be happier if you knew? Would he? Because while you would get the happy memories back, you would also get the bad ones. You’d feel everything.

Love, happiness, sadness. Hate.

And what’s more, you were risking so much in trying to retrieve your memories. You didn’t care about the permanent damage the Curse could bring onto your mind. The Slytherins grew up facing it, they were molded to be the perfect weapons. To infiltrate Hogwarts.

Some people never recovered from it.

Draco breathed a heavy sigh as they reached your room. His heart stopped when he entered and saw you unmoving on the bed, save for the slightest rise and fall of your chest. He began to walk towards you but was quickly slammed against a wall.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Harry Potter glared at him.

Except Draco’s eyes didn’t- couldn’t- leave your still body. The redness on your face. The almost-dry tears left on your clothes. There was a slight tremor in your right hand that stopped his breathing completely.

Potter snapped in front of his face, trying to get his attention, but Draco was too far gone. He was being killed ten times over, his eyes never leaving your closed ones.

Thankfully, Pansy stepped in. “Are you taking care of her, Potter? Is that why you’re here?” There wasn’t so much malice as there was precaution in her tone. She wanted to make sure you were okay.

“Of course I’m helping her. She’s one of my best friends. What I want to know is why Malfoy,” Potter gestured wildly with his hand, “came rushing in here.”

“Do you know why she’s here?”

“I know it has something to do with recovering lost memories. And that _Malfoy_ was marked as her emergency contact. But they called me anyway, and I don’t blame them, I wouldn’t trust you lot around here- around her.”

Pansy scoffed. “Dimwitted as ever. Do you know how they treat a memory charm, Potter?” He stayed silent. “No? They use the Cruciatus Curse. Your ‘best friend’ just had to be tortured because none of you bloody Gryffindors could be there for her enough so that she wouldn’t feel so dependent on recovering those memories.”

Potter had the nerve to look embarrassed, but before he could respond, Pansy was already dragging a barely-there Draco with her.

“Lots of fluids and bed rest. She’s not going to want to eat for a while, but make sure she has something. There’s going to be lots of tremors and soreness, so find someone to massage them out- it works wonders,” Pansy told him on her way to the door.

Potter crossed his arms, stubborn as ever. “And why would I trust anything _you_ have to say?”

“We have more experience than you think,” she snapped right before slamming the door.

They went back. Back to the manor, back to the quietness, back to the cold bottle in Draco’s hand and the warmth it brought with it.

-

_Dear Y/N,_

_Is this what death feels like?_

_I don’t think I’ve ever experienced something quite so painful. It hurts, bloody hell, it hurts._

_I thought I would fall apart when I read the message from St. Mungo’s. And then when I saw you unconscious on that bed, there was no thought about it._

_I fell and fell and fell._

_My handwriting is barely legible right now thanks to the guilt, the fear, the firewhisky, but there’s so much feeling in it._

_If I had never erased your memories, you wouldn’t be where you were today. If I had done it differently, you wouldn’t be lining yourself up in front of the Cruciatus. That stupid Gryffindor bravery never lets you stop._

_They tortured us in those last few years. Voldemort wanted us to be perfect and prove our allegiance. It wasn’t just Cruciatus, he used other methods, other things to scare us._

_I remember every time I came back from a trip home, you would hold me. You would take care of me. You said you wanted to take all the pain, all the hurt away. And it worked._

_Where are you now?_

_Oh, right. I lost you. Pushed you to go get yourself tortured because you’d do anything to undo what I did._

_Anything._

_You said your soul knows mine._

_So, can you feel me breaking?_

_I wish I could go back,_

_D.M._

-

It was hell and you couldn’t stop going back.

The Curse was the worst thing you ever felt, nothing compared.

But every time you went back, you felt something return to you. It wasn’t much, just tiny glimpses, but it was something.

Sometimes it would be incredible. Dates by candlelight, your heart feeling fuller than it had in months. 

But sometimes it was sad. You would relive waking up confused on the floor of the Astronomy tower, your wand thrown to the side, your hand holding onto a letter for dear life, and your heart feeling as if it’d been broken and shattered beyond repair.

The Healers were getting anxious, however. You lost weight and barely slept, the Curse taking so much from you. And they had warned you that at a certain point, they had to stop trying, the risk of brain damage would get too high.

You weren’t concerned with the treatment, though. You could get over the pain- you already partly had.

Draco was what really concerned you.

In the beginning, it was like you _felt_ something was off. Something not quite right and it was accompanied by a slight pain in your chest.

It felt like heartbreak and tasted just as bitter.

What was worse was that he had distanced himself. Practically disappeared from you. 

You were still invited to drinks with your new friends (because that’s what they were- friends) but you stopped going after a few weeks of Draco all but ignoring you. You apologized over and over for your absence, blaming it on work, but they heard none of it.

All you knew was that everything in the world had become wrong. Backward. Incorrect.

Pansy and Theo spent many nights at your place. They would say it was because Draco was in another one of his ‘moods’ or that they had gotten bored of his manor, but you knew the real reason.

They were worried about you.

They had become your family, and now they were taking care of one of their own.

-

Tomorrow was your last treatment.

They had spent two months administering it along with a potion whose taste never seemed to leave your mouth.

Any more of the Curse would have you stuck with permanent damage, you’d never recover. Still, you kept asking them to do a little more, push a little harder.

Harry had been there for you the whole time, replacing Draco as your emergency contact. It had been nice to talk to your old friends more, but you still missed the Slytherins.

At least Harry tried to help you. He took you all over Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, trying to jog some type of memories from your last years, but nothing ever took.

The worst part had been walking into Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and seeing Fred’s face. You knew it was George, but their identicalness made you stop in your tracks. You half-expected George to yell and scream at you as he did in your nightmares and Curse episodes.

But he didn’t. He just walked up to you and enveloped you in a hug. It was caring and remembering and forgiving.

And that was even worse.

It was midnight. 14 hours to go until the treatment.

You were nursing a bottle of butterbeer and a small headache. Sleep was beyond you, and besides, there were other things on your mind.

Tomorrow was your last chance. The Healers had been nervous about giving you even that much. If things went wrong, it was more than likely that you’d never recover. Your best chance would be to find the caster of the charm, but you knew there was no chance.

For all you know, the caster of that charm and writer of the letter could’ve died during the Battle. There was no hope of finding them.

But what really filled your thoughts was Draco. You missed him. Over the months you spent together, you had felt something grow between you two. An understated tie.

Perhaps it was because you had found solace in each other or maybe it was something more, but you would never forget it. You knew what you had felt had grown past ‘just friends’.

You stood up abruptly, butterbeer swishing out of the bottle, your balance uncontrolled. Maybe you had drunk a little too much. You grabbed your wand and threw on a hoodie, preparing yourself.

Your hands collected the remaining grains of confidence and strength you had, filling them into an hourglass you prayed would last until tomorrow. Fear threatened to overcome you but you shoved it down quickly. You had to do this.

Feet collided roughly with the ground as you Apparated to the entrance of Malfoy Manor. You gave the front door one knock before pushing it open and entering. The wards only allowed for specific people, and you were still on that list.

The house was dark and silent as you walked through it, but you knew Draco never slept this early. You crept up the stairs and tried to listen for any sounds to clue to his location.

A nearby crash had you jumping and pulling your wand. It sounded like glass shattering loudly, as if it were thrown. Your feet picked up pace as you searched for the source and arrived in front of a door, light spilling from the crack underneath.

It was Draco’s bedroom.

You pushed the door open slowly, careful to not scare him. “Draco?” you called out quietly.

Your heart stopped and started again at the sight of the room. A glass cup had indeed been thrown at the wall, shards and what looked to be firewhisky covering the floor. The bed was made perfectly except for one spot, a small journal and quill sitting on it.

It was a nice room, honestly. Clean, minimal, comfortable. It reminded you of him. It smelled like his cologne mixed with a bit of clove and mint.

You almost tripped to your knees when you saw him.

Draco was crumpled in the corner. His suit jacket disregarded, eyes red-rimmed, body shaking horribly. You watched as his right hand scratched violently at his left forearm, blood beginning to drip onto the floor.

You stumbled forward and to your knees in front of him, feeling your own eyes water. “Draco,” you repeated.

He looked at you and you felt as though you were dying. There was such brokenness, such pain contained within the grey.

He was beautiful.

Not in the way that conventional things were. You weren’t thinking of soft hair, nice bodies, chiseled faces. No, he was beautiful for his mind. Beautiful in the way that he felt so much, his brilliance, his sacrifice, his ability to love. He was the beauty you find in heartbreak, because the only way to truly appreciate the beauty of something is to see the pain that hides behind it.

Your arms came around him, letting him lean on you. You would take away his pain, his hurt, everything. You would absorb it like a sponge, allowing him to drop his tears, his baggage, his heart, and you would pick it right back up.

You wouldn’t mind sacrificing that bit of yourself. Only for him.

It was silence only interrupted by occasional sobs, after which you’d hold him a little tighter. You ignored when your arms got tired or your back sore, you could care less.

After at least an hour, you helped him stand up. Brought him to the bathroom and leaned him against the counter. You searched for all the right items and began to clean his Mark.

His body was frozen, the muscles of his arm tense. Your touches were light, feather-like, excruciatingly gentle. You wiped the blood away with a wet washcloth, wiped away the pain.

Eventually, he began to relax as you leaned into his body, the side of your head against his heartbeat. You carefully applied a salve and bandaged the arm softly, making sure not to move too quickly or push too hard. 

When you were done, you washed your hands and cleaned everything up. As you went to exit the bathroom, Draco right behind, he stopped you. His hand grabbed your wrist and you turned around worriedly.

Your eyes were met with his face millimeters away. This close, you could see the slight marbling that you had noticed in the lift so long ago. You watched as his eyes watched you bite your lip nervously, a habit you never seemed to give up.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

So much was held in those two words.

“No need to thank me,” you whispered back, eyes tracking down to his lips.

Your heart began beating faster as he leaned forward and you could see each individual eyelash. Closer had your lips just touching, a light graze.

You gasped lightly at the sensation and he moved.

His lips met yours and you felt fireworks explode in your stomach. It was a soft kiss cradled by even softer hands. His fingertips traced your jaw, a barely-there touch. You were backed into the door frame as you responded, hands grabbing his shoulders.

It was a sweet kiss, the type of innocence you pray to protect. To coddle. It was a kiss that said a million words. 

You felt the hands now holding your jaw shake slightly, and you threaded your fingers through his, your hand over his. You steadied him.

You kissed him like you had practiced for this moment all your life- because that’s exactly what it felt like. Muscle memory.

A piece of you felt returned.

-

Sometime later, the kiss broke.

Again, he murmured something that sounded like, “ _Thank you_.”

Your hand reached for his and you pulled him to the bed, sitting him down next to the black journal, which he picked up and shoved into the nightstand. You decided not to ask.

Standing in front of him, you threaded your fingers through his hair and tilted his head up slightly, giving you access to press a small, chaste kiss to his forehead. 

Draco responded by pulling you into the space between his legs, arms wrapping around your waist and head resting into your stomach. Your hands went back to his hair and shoulders, rubbing small, comforting circles.

But it was over quickly, and Draco pulled away to whisper one thing.

“Stay?”

You smiled lightly and nodded. “Always.”

He sat back against the pillows, kicking off his shoes and socks beforehand. You did the same and moved to the other side, laying down next to him.

The light went out and darkness consumed the room along with the moonlight that flooded in through the windows. You felt his hand slip into yours and he kissed you quickly, barely lasting a second. 

His hand squeezed yours once.

_I’m sorry._

You squeezed back. Once. Twice.

_I’m here for you._

-

The room was cold as Draco and you entered it. He was nervous, really nervous.

You had asked him to come with you to your last visit, a show of strength. And of course, he listened. He would follow you anywhere.

What you hadn’t told him were the risks that came with this visit. He nearly pulled you out right then and there. He held himself back, though, because if this is what you wanted, then he wouldn’t stop you.

Draco paused, however, when the Healer brought up the issue with the charm caster. He could undo this, undo everything. It was on him.

Could he do it? Would you be happier if you knew? Because he would sacrifice his own happiness as long as you were okay.

He would suffer without forgiveness if it meant you no longer suffered at all.

But at the same time, could he _crucio_ you? Was he capable of inflicting the same torture he had grown up dreading?

As soon as the Healer stepped out, Draco pulled you out of the room and into the corridor.

You looked at him curiously, but he was already speaking. “Do you have the letter?”

Nodding slowly, you responded, “Yes. Why?”

“Hold on to it. Okay? Don’t forget it.”

Draco saw the Healers coming from the end of the corridor and pulled you back into the room. The Healers entered soon after and looked at him suspiciously, the strength of which competed with your look of confusion.

One of the Healers stepped out of the line. “Are you ready, Y/N?”

You nodded and began to walk to the metal table, Draco’s blood turned to ice and he truly grasped what he was about to do.

“And you understand that if this does not work, you’ll have to live without the memories forever and risk the potential for more trauma?” the Healer continued.

“Yes, I understand everything. Let’s go.” You drank the potion the Healers handed you quickly, a sour look on your face.

 _Always so strong_ , Draco thought. He knew that you could survive anything- even this.

Bell towers began to ring in his ears as he watched one of the Healers raise their arm, ready to cast the Curse on your strapped body.

They rang as he interrupted them, explained to them that he could do it- that he had the best chance of giving the memories back.

They nearly burst his eardrums as your face shifted from confused, to betrayed, to completely shut off. You put on a mask of coldness.

But nonetheless, when the Healers asked if you were sure that you wanted him to cast it, you silently nodded, eyes piercing straight through his soul.

Draco felt himself die a little when he raised his wand and breathed, “ _Crucio_.”

-

Once again, it was pain.

Torturous, unadulterated agony.

And you would never know if it was because Draco was simply stronger or the fact that memories washed over you in a huge tidal wave of emotion, but it was the worst the Curse had ever hit you.

You heard yourself scream, thrash, fight painfully against your bindings. You wouldn’t survive it, you could feel cracks forming in your very soul.

But then, something else hit you.

Stars, the Astronomy Tower, moonlight on pale skin.

Hidden smiles, secret glances, quick rendezvous in the Room of Requirement.

A one-year anniversary, a new task, a forgotten boy.

The letter pushed into your hand, a plan taking form, tears falling because…

_Death is better than forgetting you._

Draco Malfoy erasing your memory because he loved you so much and you had loved him and you, _you_ , were his weakness. The Dark Lord sending him to kill you on May 5th because that was your anniversary and Voldemort was nothing if not sentimental.

Despite the pain, your hand slid down to the letter buried in your pocket and grabbed it tightly.

Your missing pieces were Draco Malfoy.

You wanted to laugh but the memories were being thrown at you at such a speed and there were a year and a half worth of thoughts, feelings, emotions and they drowned you and drowned you until everything turned black.

-

When you woke, it was sunset.

Orange light filtered in through the window of the hospital room, painting everything in a beautiful scene of golden dusk.

Draco was leaning against the far wall, looking more disheveled than you’d ever seen him. His shirt was untucked, hair mussed from his hands running through it, eyes a mix of red and purple.

No, he wasn’t disheveled. He was _destroyed_.

It took you a couple of tries to get your voice to work, and even then, it sounded foreign to your own ears, brutalized from screaming.

“Draco?”

He jumped and his eyes met yours, entrapping you. You remember the first time you had noticed the exact storm-grey shade of them in fifth year. The moment you realized you were falling for him.

“Y/N?” His voice was just as bad, and you could tell by the tremors running through his hands that he was craving something. Badly, at that.

“Do you need something to drink?” you asked, making sure your voice came out as neutral as possible.

He shook his head and took a tentative few steps closer. “Of course that’s your concern,” he joked, “never anything about yourself.”

You ignored him. “Do you? I think I grabbed one of your flasks-”

“No,” he cut you off. “I’m trying to stay sober- at least for a day.”

“That’s incredible.” You grinned at him and watched a little bit of the tension in his body release. You remembered everything, meeting him, knowing him, loving him. Old memories blended with the new and made the most complete picture you’d ever seen. “Why are you so far?”

He watched your eyebrows draw in confusion and you reached a hand out. He moved a few steps closer, still not close enough. “I didn’t think you’d want me to. I lied to you for so long, charmed you to forget so much. Y/N, I wronged you so badly.”

You shook your head, chuckling. “I understand why you did what you did. And while I may have been mad before, but that was more towards the thought of losing you, not at you.”

Silence created a bubble around you, and this time, you were the one to stand up. Draco tried to get you to lay back down, but you wouldn’t listen.

Tentatively, you placed one hand over his heart and the other around his wrist, bringing his hand to rest on your throat. And just as it had in the Astronomy Tower so long ago, it curved gently.

“ **I probably still adore you with your hands around my neck** , remember?” you teased, your eyes showing the sincerity of your words.

Draco looked up, then around, going everywhere but onto you. And when he did finally look at you, the past came crashing into both of you. “ _Fucking hell_ ,” he muttered. “You are going to destroy me, Y/N Y/L/N.”

You reached your arms around his neck, and he immediately embraced you, holding onto you for dear life.

“Is this real?” he whispered, his voice holding an unmistakable tremor to it. “Am I just dreaming?”

You backed up just enough to look him in the eyes and press a chaste kiss to his lips that still managed to convey every message that ran through your mind. “Nothing is more real. I, Y/N, love you, Draco. Despite the good, the bad, and the twisted, I love every piece of you.”

Tears were falling from both of your eyes. Once again, he looked up in disbelief. “I love you. So much. Promise me you’ll stay.”

You promised him that and so much more. All the time you had lost would be made up, the future you had planned would come true.

There were so many feelings, so many questions arising in your head. So many words that threatened to tumble from your mouth, but you kept quiet in fear of ruining the beautiful peace you had obtained. Because for the first time in so long, your feeling of forgetfulness ebbed.

You breathed deeply and accepted that nothing made sense except for the fact that Draco’s arms were around you and that you had the strangest inkling you’d finally made it home.

-

_Dear Y/N,_

_I’ve known what it is to have you._

_I’ve known what it is to lose you._

_And now, I’ve known what it is to find you again._

_So, I promise before every god, deity, and spiritual being there is that I will never ever let you go._

_My lover, my best friend, my saving grace, please do me the favor of never leaving me. Only death shall part us, and even then, I will be the one to wait for you, because surely I will not last one minute more in this world without you._

_Always and forever,_

_D.M._

  
  


**_fin._ **


End file.
